


you look a little lost and found

by firstaudrina



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2019-03-24 15:34:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13814166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstaudrina/pseuds/firstaudrina
Summary: Two broken hearts and two empty glasses with an ocean of liquor to fill them: cliché on top of cliché. Jace is back in her bar again.





	you look a little lost and found

**Author's Note:**

> Set post-s2, during some vague future time where both Jace/Clary and Maia/Simon have broken up.
> 
> The song they dance to is "Easy Lover."

Two broken hearts and two empty glasses with an ocean of liquor to fill them: cliché on top of cliché. Jace is back in her bar again.

He looks like he looked the first time Maia ever met him, bedraggled and damp, his blonde hair hanging glossy and wet around his solemn face. This time he isn't looking for assistance, at least not openly. Something in his expression is keen, though. Needy.

"Aren't you supposed to be out hunting shadows?" she asks, sliding a refill in front of him.

"It's my night off," Jace answers.

"I didn't know you got those."

A shoulder lifts and lowers in a careless shrug. "Taking it anyway."

It's been storming on and off all day, which suits Maia just fine. It reminds her of something out of an old book, the kind with musty pages and long skirts, where a heroine's tempest of emotion could be made manifest on the page. Pathetic fallacy. If Maia could wrap her hands around the knot in her chest and push it out into the world, it would be all rainclouds and thunder. She doesn't want the reminder of sunshine, of sweet boys with open smiles who lied to her and called it saving. 

It's late, and the Hunter's Moon is almost empty. There's a heartsick vampire in the far corner (but not Maia's heartsick vampire) and two tipsy Seelies by the door, but no one new had come in for more than an hour before Jace slid in from the storm. She'd been considering kicking everyone out and closing early until then, but instead she let him take a seat and poured them both rum on the rocks. 

Jace has only just begun to dry. He keeps fidgeting, pushing his hair back and holding his shirt away from where it's sticking to his skin. 

"Don't you have a rune for that?" Maia plops a lime wedge into his drink even though he did not ask for one.

"For laundry?" Jace asks. "You know what, when Clary's done summoning sunlight out of her hands, I'll ask her to get on it."

She's surprised he brought up Clary of his own accord, but she doesn't mention it. She heard about what happened through the grapevine from Luke, though he only had the kind of vague dad details that didn't quite make up a whole story. 

The bell at the door jingles as the Seelies sloppily help each other through it, arms around waists and heads tilted together. "You will not even remember this nixie in a century," one of them is saying. "Nor should you, because he is toxic as oleander and unworthy of your affections. You are also much more attractive."

"I am forever grateful for your time and friendship," says the other, tears welling in her eyes. The door bangs shut, and Maia snorts.

"Do you think everyone in a bar after 3 A.M. is heartbroken?" 

"In my professional experience?" Maia says, trying to keep it light. "Either that or they're serial killers."

Jace glances at her and his lips quirk. "Two for two."

She rolls her eyes. "Stop it." 

"I used to be funnier."

"Must've been before I met you."

Amusement seems to loosen the tension in Jace's spine more than the booze does. Maia doesn't mind having someone around to poke and prod, though she's avoided being alone with Jace since they slept together. Not because she was embarrassed or regretful, but because she didn't quite know what to expect from him and she wasn't particularly interested in finding out. She had more important things to deal with than Jace Wayland.

When the vampire leaves, fearful of sunrise encroaching in just a few short hours, Maia locks Jace in with her and starts putting the chairs up. "You gonna help me close?"

Her tone doesn't leave much room for refusal. Jace leans over the bar to get the bottle of rum and pour them each another. "Only if you don't make me drink alone."

Maia hands him a broom with one hand while accepting the drink with the other. They clink glasses and part ways, moving past each other in opposite directions. "Cheers," Maia says. "Now it's a party."

Jace gives her a wry look like he does when he's pretending to be aloof but gets to sweeping without complaint. Maia switches on the radio, leaving it on the station her boss had turned it to earlier — _the 80s, 90s, and today!_ cheerfully announced by a pre-recorded voice. They make quick work of the bar together. Once half the chairs are up and the floors are gleaming, Jace comes back to his stool. He reaches over the bar and plucks maraschino cherries from one of the small, open containers, pops them in his mouth.

"I saw Simon the other day," he says, conversational.

"You have the power of vision." Maia finishes her drink and sets the iced-but-empty glass aside, knowing Jace will pour her another. "Congrats."

Jace tips the bottle towards her waiting glass, and Maia feels something like grim satisfaction. "He looked —"

"Nope," she says. "I don't care how he looked. Is it supposed to make me feel better to know how he looked?"

She has deleted missed calls and texts from Simon. She even deleted his number from her phone, though she hasn't been able to bring herself to block him and the stupid smart phone is smart enough to know that she used to know him. Instead of an unknown number, it reads Maybe: Simon Lewis every time a message comes in. It's pretty fitting, because she thought she knew him and it turns out she never did.

Fool her once, fool her twice.

Jace studies her for a long moment, his gaze plain, and then ducks his head in a wordless apology. When they'd met, Maia remembered thinking she'd seen dogs like that, with two different colored eyes; when it came to Jace, it made her wonder if part of him was friendly and part of him was not, like a comic book villain who hides a dual nature in plain sight.

Or it's just genetics.

"It was easier before," Jace says finally.

Maia shrugs. "Depends on your before."

"Mm, fair enough." Jace inclines his head towards one of the tables and Maia acquiesces, though it feels weird to sit beside him instead of on the other side of the bar. "Before Clary. After Valentine."

"Ah." Maia nods too, then allows, "After Luke. Before Gretel."

A seemingly involuntary spasm of regret crosses his face. "I'm —"

She lifts a hand, shakes her head. "Don't. That's not why I'm saying it."

They let a beat of alcohol-soaked silence pass before they set their glasses back down, the soft thump on the table followed by the tinkle of ice cubes. "I used to sleep around," he says. "Kind of a lot."

"Slut," Maia jokes, fast and sharp before she can stop herself, and Jace gets a good laugh out of it. A real one.

" _That_ was easier," he adds.

Thinking of Kaelie, Maia says, "Sure, as long as none of your partners try to kill your friends and family."

Jace pulls a face. "But that's my type."

She laughs, too. 

Maia hadn't had much interest in getting serious in the gap of time between Jordan and Simon. She'd become closed-off and cagey, wary of entanglements. And she had other things to focus on: wolfing out, finding an apartment, finding a job, paying tuition. Sometimes she would go out with Gretel, or they'd hole up in a booth at the Jade Wolf to cackle while swiping right and left on various prospects. There had been guys but no one important; Maia had her pack and her friends and she was happy enough. You let people in, you never knew what would happen.

"Casual was easier for me, too," Maia says.

They look at each other for a moment, and then Jace nudges his black boot against her fire engine red one. "Hey. Do you ever think about that night?"

She plays dumb. "What night?"

Jace arches an eyebrow with cartoonish exaggeration, something highly suggestive in the curve of his smile. Maia huffs a laugh. 

"No," she says, then, "Sometimes. When I take out the trash." She leans back in her chair and brings her glass to her lips, but she doesn't take a sip. She just surveys him over the rim. "Do you?"

"Uh-huh," Jace says slowly, eyes on hers, and there's something suggestive in that too. 

Maia presses her lips together and then swallows the last gasp of rum. "I wouldn't know it. Isabelle seemed surprised when I told her."

Jace is surprised too, brows crawling up towards his hairline. "You told Izzy?"

She shrugs. 

"Why?"

"Some comment she made. I figured you'd already said something." 

Again amusement makes his expression interesting, his face exchanging its moodiness for curious anticipation. "Why would you think that?"

"I don't know. You seem like the kind of guy who brags about his conquests." Maia puts her legs up on the table, denim skirt inching up her thighs. "I've seen you in here with girls. It's a whole lot of posturing. If I didn't know better I would've thought you were terrible in bed."

Jace smiles. "I didn't realize I was proving myself at the time."

"You're _always_ proving yourself," Maia tells him, and he knows it because he groans and grimaces dramatically before getting up, putting some distance between them.

He hops back onto a stool so he can steal a few more cherries before craning the rest of the way over the bar to mess with the sound system. She catches a song here or there in the rapid station surfing before he switches decisively from a very buoyant Whitney Houston song to something equally dated but with a familiarity that catches in Maia's chest.

The song sounds exactly like something her dad would have played in the car during the morning trudge to school, on the days he actually drove her. It's dizzying. Earth, Wind & Fire, maybe. No — something else too, Phil Collins. Jace must like it because he drops down from the bar and does a little spin, which pushes Maia past discomfort to laughter. "Oh, you have _moves_?"

The corners of his lips lift and he tilts his chin up like he's beckoning her over, his body moving along to the music without a second thought. Feeling it but not focusing on it, just letting it lead him. Maia raises her eyebrows and lays a hand on her chest ( _who, me?_ ) as she shakes her head, but Jace is having none of that. He's getting into it now, shoulders shifting to tempo as he dances his way over to her and holds out a hand. Maia takes a moment to debate internally before she's up on her feet, sliding her hand into his and grabbing the near-empty bottle as she goes. 

She takes a swig, hips already swiveling as liquor burns her lips. She gives the bottle to Jace to finish and spins around him, fingertips traipsing along the line of his shoulders, left to right. Impulsively, she ruffles his hair, tugs his head back slightly to watch him swallow. Maia ends her turn where she started, just in time for Jace to deposit the bottle on the table and scoop her in by the waist.

Maia laughs, up against his chest, but pushes him back and twists away. She rolls her shoulders, brings her hands up and then down again, over her chest and stomach and thighs. She leans into him and he leans away, in sync, moving around and with each other. Jace hooks his fingers around her belt to pull her in again, hips flush.

"Not bad," she says.

"Kind of like sparring," he offers.

Maia spins in the circle of his arms before she drops back against his chest. Teasingly, she says, "What kind of fighting do you do?"

Jace's lips are against the shell of her ear. "Well, you'd know, wouldn't you?"

She smirks a little and whirls around abruptly, taking a swing that Jace evades with instinctive ease. He grins, goes with it instantly. They weave around each other as Maia thinks back on other, more serious fights they've had in the same space. Now they duck and dodge, strike without any intention of making contact. The music is still carrying them even as it starts to fade out, giving a little flair to their impromptu sparring session. 

Maia kicks, but Jace grabs her ankle, his other hand at her lower back so he can drop her into a dip. She's taken by surprise in a good way, clutching at his shirt and shoulder. She curls her leg around him and lets him hold her there, suspended. There are soft lights above them and a new song is starting; Maia does not feel in danger of falling.

"I never," Jace says softly, "thought of you as a conquest."

There's a pause, just three or four seconds of distant keyboards signaling a much cornier song, and then Maia is surging up, wrapping her arms around Jace's neck as she pushes into a kiss. Jace has her, secure; he holds her half in the dip and half upright, all tangled up. He tastes sweet and tart like cherries in syrup, rum and lime and ice. 

Jace hoists her up and sets her on the table, which creaks and skids back half an inch from their forcefulness. The empty bottle of rum hits the floor with a clamorous thud but it's too heavy to break, instead rolling off to parts unknown to be dealt with later. Maia peels Jace's dark gray Henley from his body and tosses it aside, arches up against him for another wild kiss. 

This is easier.

Maia drags her mouth hungrily over his collarbone and chest, shocked by the fevered heat of his skin after her last, cold-blooded lover. Jace nudges her back so he can pull her velvet tank out from where it's tucked into her skirt and lift it over her head, navigating her hair and jewelry with unexpected thoughtfulness. He scrabbles at her bra for a second until he realizes it fastens in the front, and Maia smiles as she slips every hook from its eye, one by one.

This time when she leans up and curls her arms around his neck for a kiss, it's skin to skin. Jace's fingers trail down her bare sides and stomach, unlatch the chunky belt biting into her waist. His lips follow the same general path as he kneels in front of her, a kiss landing on her sternum, under her breast, at the dip of her waist. He tugs her a little closer to the edge of the table and slides her panties down, skirt bunched around her hips. Then he buries his mouth between her legs.

Jace hadn't gone down on her last time and Maia regrets that almost immediately as he licks her open, groaning at his first taste of her. He presses closer, adjusting her legs over his shoulders. She likes the way he grips her thighs. She likes the sure warm pressure of his fingers, the scratch of his stubble against sensitive skin. She digs the heels of her boots into his naked back and falls against the cool wood of the able, a little sticky to the touch.

Maia arches and wriggles, rocks up into him and practically kicks him in the spine when he pins her hips down. She only becomes aware of the sounds she's making when they fall into a rhythm with his — her deep little whimpers echoed by Jace's low groans. He clutches her with impatience as he tries somehow to do more, harder, lips and tongue working overtime. When his teeth edge against her seemingly by accident, Maia cries out. Her whole body contracts and she's up off the table, fisting fingers in his hair, those heels scraping over his skin.

Jace doesn't stop. Her body feels like a bell that has already been rung: the sound had ceased but the vibrations remained. The feeling boomeranged, came back on itself; it started to build again before it had even really ended. 

Maia heads it off. She places the sole of her boot against the front of Jace's shoulder to push him away, but then coaxes him to standing with surprisingly gentle hands. She wraps her legs around his waist and kisses him deeply, finds her taste on his lips and moans.

It feels so fucking good to _feel_ something.

But when Jace cups her face in both hands, the kiss takes a turn. It becomes something softer, and Maia can't have that. She feels him up like she's trying to change the subject, massaging the hard line of him through his jeans. His stomach muscles jump against the knuckles of her other hand. She jerks his belt open, teeth on his lower lip to remind him what's going on here, but then she brushes her nose against his in a little nudge. As though she's asking him to dance.

"I don't have anything," Jace says apologetically. Their faces are still so close, and he eases his mouth along her jawline. "Believe it or not, I didn't actually come here with this in mind."

One of the perks of dating a vampire was that Maia hadn't had to worry about precautions. "There are some in a bowl on the bar." She leans her forehead against his and adds solemnly, "Safe sex is important." 

Jace smirks and gives her a quick kiss before going to retrieve a condom from the glass bowl. Maia watches, not sure how she feels about the surreal image of Jace walking half-naked through the Hunter's Moon after hours. She rationalized the attraction a long time ago, but still. There's already a bruise on his shoulder blade thanks to her. 

He kisses her again as soon as he's close enough, tearing the little packet open distractedly while Maia pushes his dark jeans off his hips. She scoots closer but leans back and Jace looms over her with his hand flat on the table, his hair falling into his eyes. Maia still feels like she's ringing a little, reverberations at all her pulse points. The table jumps another half an inch when Jace thrusts into her and she gets a split-second flash of the last time, the roughness of the bricks against her back through her shirt. Gripping his shoulders and feeling the strain in her muscles as she worked to hold herself aloft, finding scratches on the nape of her neck the next morning. Now she rakes blunt nails over his skin, grabs his hips and his ass roughly, bares her teeth at him. 

"Green," Jace tells her, breathless. 

It takes Maia a minute to catch on but when she does she orders, "Switch."

Jace understands and obeys, pulling out (god, she always hates that sensation when her body craves the opposite, wants and wants) and helping her off so he can hop up in her place. He lies back on the table without a word, jeans restricting his movements unhelpfully, and then Maia gets up and on him, sinks down.

"Jesus fucking Christ, you're hot," he breathes, and Maia grins.

Losing control meant she needed it back but this — the table protesting soundly under bodies arching and rocking together — presents unanticipated minefields. Before she'd had her face buried in his neck, dull teeth aching against his skin. Now she's watching him and he's watching her back, his gaze half-lidded and lips slightly pursed, ridiculous but kindling something low in her stomach. What is he reading in eyes that might go green again at any moment? 

Maia is winding up, her body tightening. Her nipples are hard against her own fingertips, her clit swelling under the inattentive attention of Jace's thumb as his hand follows the roll of her hips. A spark is zipping along and soon something's going to catch fire.

Jace goes first, makes a whole production of it, but even as it's happening he's shaking his head. He screws his eyes shut and clenches his jaw like he's trying to will himself not to come, but then one of the marks on his skin burns gold. He smirks. He's sheened with sweat, hair dark at the root now, but has such renewed energy that Maia has to laugh.

"Show-off," she gasps, wonders if she could make him come twice in as many minutes. But it's her turn to shake apart now, so loud her moan echoes in the otherwise empty bar. When she's done, dropped back into her body but dazed, she feels Jace sit up and curl his arm around her. There's some repositioning, her foot slipping off the edge of the table and knee pressing painfully into the wood, but they manage. Jace is slower now, more careful, but steady. Maia can't keep her eyes open, can't keep in her soft, satisfied sounds. 

She kisses him but her aim is off, lips finding his cheek first before Jace turns his head to meet her. Tacky music is still playing over the speakers, somebody's '70s falsetto puncturing Maia's afterglow. "You know," Jace murmurs. "This is my favorite bar in the city."

Maia snorts. "Shut up."

The downside of fucking someone on a table is that there isn't much space to linger when it's over. But maybe that's a good thing. Maia climbs off Jace gingerly, landing on slightly shaky legs. She grabs his shirt and pulls it on, the fabric loose and comfortable.

"I don't think yours is gonna fit me," he says.

"I would love to see you try." She gives him a pointed and playful look as she heads to the bathroom, where she does not look in the mirror. She doesn't need to see her messy hair or smudged mascara, the burn of Jace's beard on the previously unmarked side of her neck. People are allowed a rebound or two. She can deal with the evidence later.

When Maia returns, she finds Jace in the middle of wiping down the table, which should probably be politely disinfected. His jeans are zipped and his belt buckled, but his attention seems to have lagged before his task could be completed. He has a rag in one hand but he's not actually doing anything with it except pressing it to the wooden surface while he holds himself upright. The way he's standing is strange too, like there's no strength in it, and the fingers of his free hand are digging into his temple. His bruised shoulders stand out, bony.

"Jace?"

He straightens but it's carefully done, and the smile he shoots her is weak. "You know, I'm gonna need that shirt back at some point. It's cold out there."

"Uh-huh," Maia says, _whatever_. "What's wrong?"

He shakes his head a little, _nothing_. "Migraine. I washed out the glasses, by the way. Don't know where the hell that bottle went, though."

She approaches him slowly, almost wary. This is how she hunts something, watching for weaknesses and trying to figure out what they mean. "Can't you —" She waves her hand in a little made-up pattern meant to indicate a stele and rune. "When you have a headache?"

He shrugs. "Didn't bring my stele. Stupid, I know."

Maia rests her hip against the edge of the table and surveys him. "Did I not just see you activate a rune hands-free?"

Jace stops pretending to mess around with the rag so he can look at her. It almost seems like he takes a breath before he smirks, leaning in close and flirtatious. Proximity heats the atmosphere between them. "Gee, detective," he says. "I guess I used up all my energy on you."

She shakes her head but a wry smile twists her lips just the same. After a slight shove that makes him laugh, they get down to business. It doesn't take very long to make the bar look like no one had sex in it that night, though at one point Jace finds her panties under a chair and hands them over with smug smile. It's all normal enough, on script and by the book, but something about him still seems off. She doesn't know why, exactly. Maia finds herself watching him out of the corner of her eye, waiting for something.

When it's time to go, Jace tugs her over by the collar of his shirt. He gathers the hem in his hands and eases it off her, his knuckles brushing against her skin as he goes. He slips it on over his head before going to fetch the rest of her clothes, which he helps her into with unnecessary but not unwanted care. He does up the hooks of her bra and holds her shirt so she can put her arms through it. He even fastens her belt around her waist. Then it's jackets on, radio off, ready to go.

But neither of them is in a hurry for whatever personal reasons they're choosing not to disclose. Jace waits while Maia locks the door to the Hunter's Moon, standing in the dull reddish glow of the nearest traffic light. 

"Jace," Maia starts, but he shakes his head before she can finish.

"It's not your job to deal with this."

She rolls her eyes. "I know it's not, I don't remember filling out an application."

"Don't worry about it," Jace says, but there's a note of pleading in his voice, a shade of exhaustion. He's the same boy who dragged himself onto a barstool at the start of the night, dripping from rain that has left the sidewalks shining. He has that hunted look about him that he did when Maia was the one hunting him. She doesn't know what's following him now, but a feeling of dread is coiling in her stomach. It's like starting a puzzle from the outside in: she has the border completed, but the big picture is just a gaping hole.

But Maia doesn't press, because she knows what it's like to want to keep your pain inside. She has to respect that. Instead she reaches up and tucks Jace's hair behind his ear. "Like I'd worry about a Shadowhunter." 

There's relief in Jace's expression as he smiles, says, "There you go." He catches her hand before she can drop it and kisses the inside of her wrist in a little thank-you. Maia returns the sentiment with a nod and they separate, each turning to walk in opposite directions down the rain-washed street.

Cliché on top of cliché.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr @firstaudrina.


End file.
